


It was Pure

by Aquielle



Series: Where My Demons Hide [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, But this too must end, Demon!Dean, It may not be the ending I wanted, M/M, Purgatory, Rage, So many dead things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:56:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquielle/pseuds/Aquielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-Without any extraneous and unnecessary elements.<br/>free of any contamination.</p><p>-More wholesome and untainted by immorality.</p><p>-Involving or containing nothing else but.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It was Pure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Serenhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenhawk/gifts).



> A-  
> I hope that the outlet through which my rage pours will allow your mind to flow freely as well.  
> -K

Dark and rolling figures move in his peripheral vision always just out of sight, keeping their distance to asses the threat.

Prisms of light devoid of color stream through the clusters of branches that hang low. Those shafts of light are the only way to tell day from night here.

Everything is grey.

Black and white so muddy that there is no deviation anymore. The only pop of color is the oozing red that drips off the tip of his blade.

Purgatory, Dean always liked it here.

It was pure, peaceful in its own way.

No end of the world. No bad guys disguised as victims. No innocent casualties. No Sammy to concern himself with.

Here in the dank, misty air there is only one mission. Kill or be killed.

This time around he doesn't have a goal, no purpose driving him. There is no escape hatch to find, no angel to locate and protect. He's here to do one thing....feed the Mark.

The trees rustle all around him, almost as if this place is alive, inhaling, waiting for him to slow down so it can swallow him whole. Or maybe it will just spit out another monster to feed the meat grinder he has become.

He can't even remember when he last slept or how long he's been here. He hears a howl in the distance and he moves west toward the next goal.

He can focus on the physical pain, it works to distract for a while. He can bear witness to the spiderwebbing of tiny cuts that mar his hands.

He can watch as injuries pile up on his body, appearing and then disappearing suddenly like the fast moving rainstorms that soak everything only to leave the air thick and muggy.

At night he traces the scar on his chest, the last serious injury before the Mark sunk it's hooks in so deep that mere mortal wounds no longer affected him. He will be cut, bitten, clawed and slashed but nothing will stay.

The only thing to be sustained is the ache in his chest that reminds him blue eyes, bright and fierce searching for something as he was pinned down, preventing further damage.

The burn of shame he feels as he remembers Cas bent over Sam light pouring out of his hands mending the tear where blood and gore were exposed almost to the bone.

The shape to the left moves again and he lunges at it, this living distraction. Slamming his body into its weight bringing the blade that is an extension of his arm down over and over. The warmth seeping out of it and into his jeans, squelching noises that end in a scrape of bone strikes a chord that makes the Mark shoot tingles through his arm, let him know it's time to move on to the next place.

No reason to bother the vultures, they are no challenge, no threat at all.

He feels the cartilage of his knee grind while he runs, a souvenir of a time before, before the throb of his arm that splinters it's way throughout his body.

Behind him is the sounds of teeth ripping into the dead thing he left splayed open. He runs until the noise fades, until the only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat and the blood pounding in his ears.

He drops his pace to a walk, allowing his heart rate to wind down. The silence verges on suffocating, the sound of birds that should accompany the scenery is ominous in its absence.

The memory of Sam's hitched breathing wet and slow pounds inside his brain.

He looks at the tree line hoping for something to take his mind off the echoing feelings.

The weight of his brother collapsing against his chest, sucking in air, the wheezing of his punctured lung causing blood to bubble out of his wounds and soak plaid. The sudden blast of cold shooting through his shoulder as all the fury of heaven rips him from the warmth seeping out of his brother and pins him to the chair. The way his field of vision narrows to the pool of blood that stains Castiel's pant leg as he murmurs incantations and repairs the damage that took him mere seconds to inflict.

After all the shit he's sacrificed to keep his brother alive and sane, he tore a hole right through him so fast, Jesus, he is so fucking broken inside.

A noise at his back draws his attention back to the present. The oily, wet smell can only be a leviathan. He screams while he slices into it, cutting off chunks at a time. He needs to make it suffer, can't think why as he looks at his hands soaking in black rot. He kills it far too quickly while thinking about harsh, gravely tones spitting Latin through plush, pink lips.

His heart slams against his ribcage, pounding too hard as he runs, memories chasing him through the clearing into the mountains.

His arm starts throbbing as he slows again, it feels heavy like a weight has been attached to it. He can't seem to catch his breath and he feels so tired.

A werewolf catches his right thigh as he rubs over the glowing Mark. Growling in the back of his throat he drops to his knees and tears at the furry flesh, the only thought in his head is the desire for the coppery tang in the air as he hits that arterial blood.

By this point the effort should be exhausting, but a bolt of rage jolts through his system so hard it jerks his head to one side.

His arm feels like someone is pressing a branding iron into it and he can't stop stabbing at the hairy, wet mess at his feet.

The pain in his arm flares again and he snaps, aware of only pain and the smell of flesh. The trees heave again in the distance, waving like this place might actually be sentient.

Nauseous and shaking he backs away, knowing that he needs to keep moving. He can't remember why, but he has to find the angel.

His head is a single point of pain behind his eyes and the Mark is so hot it feels like hellfire.

Where is he? Where is he going? What the fuck is happening? His brain flashes from Cain to Sam, from Abbadon to Cas so fast he feels dizzy.

He feels a rush of air as he falls back slamming the side of his head into a rock when he hits the ground. The vamp is on top of his chest before he even sensed it's presence, he tries to bring the blade up but his arm is pinned to the ground with the weight of the Mark & the Blade.

He feels his entire body start to shake so violently the the vampire is bucked off, he disappears and is quickly followed by the trees and rocks.

The world around him goes white as molten iron is ripped out of his body through his pulse points.

The Mark cries it's exit in a voice that sounds like his mother and his fingers clutch as if he can hold onto it.

He opens his eyes slowly, head feeling fuzzy and wonders how he ended up in his bed.

He sits up and when he lifts his arm the muscles react so fast he almost hits himself in the face.

The Mark is gone.

He runs his left hand over the space the scar occupied certain that he will wake up any second to something gnawing at him.

The noise at the door draws his attention. There is an angel hovering at his doorframe.

Cas looks at him like he's fragile, precious, something to be handled with care as he walks toward the center of the room.

"Where's Sammy" he asks, his voice shredded as though he has been screaming for hours, maybe he has.

"He's fine beloved, the spell took a lot out of him, blood magic does that" Cas states smiling down at where his hand still rubs at the absence of heat "You both need rest, then we all need to have a discussion about putting an end to the Winchester self-sacrificing legacy."

Cas bends down and touches their lips together and Dean feels like he's exhaling for the first time in months.

He goes lax and then pulls Cas down on top of him, the weight a comfortable reminder that this is where he belongs.

This is what's real. This is pure.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of Purgatory being Dean's "happy place" presented an opportunity that I couldn't pass up.


End file.
